


It's Me, Harry, Come Home Tom

by ThatMerlinFangirl



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Dark, Death, F/M, Jealousy, M/M, Madness, Romance, Swearing, Tom is a bit fucked in the head, Wuthering Heights AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-02
Updated: 2017-05-02
Packaged: 2018-10-27 02:06:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10799442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatMerlinFangirl/pseuds/ThatMerlinFangirl
Summary: Tom wanders the forest at night, searching for his lost love.





	It's Me, Harry, Come Home Tom

**Author's Note:**

> So I took some time off from working on my WIP to respond to the complete lack of Wuthering Heights Tomarry fics. And, well. This is what happened.

They say the light of the moon can drive you mad. Maybe that is why Tom is so broken, so bitter, so fucked in the head. It's all the fault of the moon.

He thinks of Harry, bathed in it's pale light as he rests in the earth under a stone. But no, not rest - Harry does not rest. He haunts Tom, as he haunts the castle and the forest and the grass under his feet and the rain that falls from the sky.

_Tom_.... _Tom_.....

The voice echoes in his dreams and in his nightmares, and every waking moment of his day.

\---

As the Slytherin common room settles into the quiet evening buzz, a first year comes running out of the dormitories, shrieking her head off. Her friends attempt to pacify her but she is hysterical, white in the face.

"Quiet!" Tom does not lower himself to a shout, but the command is sharp and the room falls silent instantly. "What is it?"

"A-at the window," the girl stammers. "There was a face and it wanted to come through and then it reached through the glass and grabbed my hand a-and it was so cold Mr Riddle, like ice, and he kept calling ' _Let me in Tom, let me in. I've been a waif for years'_ -"

Tom pushes past her, running up the stairs to the dormitory, heart pounding because maybe this time he'll be there, waiting -

But there is only the broken windowpane and the quiet wails dancing in the wind.

Tom howls and beats the wall in frustration.

"Come in! Come in!" he sobs. "Harry, please come in! Oh god, please, my heart's darling, hear me!"

His only answer is the wind.

\---

Perhaps it was a mistake to taunt his ghost, to challenge him. _You said I killed you - haunt me then! Drive me mad!_  

Because Harry has driven him mad, there is no question about that.

Tom wonders if anyone else knows his pain, to love so much that it is akin to hatred, to feel such pain blazing inside, ripping him apart.

No. They don't.

Not that Weasley girl, who claims to have loved Harry more than he ever did. Not his parents. Not his so-called friends. Not Dumbledore, the irritating grandfatherly presence at every scene of their lives, the narrator in the play.

\---

"Tom!"

They're shrieking with laughter, running across the moors that lay behind Godric's Hollow, covered from head to toe in mud.

Cuddling up in the same bed to comfort one another when they had nightmares.

Speaking Parseltongue as their own secret language, giggling as they plot murderous revenge on Professor Snape right under his nose.

Sharing everything, never talking to anyone else, ever. Tom beating up a fellow Slytherin who dared to mock Harry's half-blood heritage.

Getting into trouble and Harry crying and Tom swearing, only to forget it the instant they were together again.

\---

Tom reaches the grave on the rocky outcrop. No flowers. Good. Harry would have hated flowers. Too cheerful for death, he would say. Too bright. Death needs darkness.

Oh Harry, sweet cruel Harry, how could you say that when you lie in the moonlight?

\---

They were inseparable. More vivid memories flash by, sitting on the bed, Harry scribbling away in his Potions textbook. Tom would never dream of defiling any book in such a way but it was one of those little odd Harry things, writing his thoughts and diary entries, doodling in the margins.

How devoted he was to him back then. Tom would do anything, anything that Harry commanded - and Harry knew that. He bossed Tom around all the time and they fought and screamed but Harry always came back to kiss Tom goodnight.

He remembers once, saying to Dumbledore "I saw them, so full of stupid admiration; he is so immeasurably superior to them - to everyone on earth, is he not?"

Dumbledore just sighed and patted his head even though they both knew Tom hated it.

It was perfect. Life was perfect. Well, not completely, but neither of them were good people so about as perfect as imperfect got.

But then _they_ came along.

The Weasleys. Granger. Those stupid, noble Gryffindors who looked after Harry when he nearly got himself killed during a Quidditch match and then became his friends. Oh the jealousy, the twisted malice that Tom had felt then. It bubbled and boiled and fizzed until it finally exploded when he overheard Harry in Dumbledore's office, saying how hateful Tom was, how degrading it was to be with him, how superior the Weasley girl was in every way.

He remembers running away from the wretched place in the dead of night, and hearing Harry scream his name in the distance. Being racked with guilt, only to stumble onwards through the rain.

It had never occurred to him that Harry might have said more after he fled from the office door.

\---

He takes a moment to study the serene calm of the grave, so unlike him, the raging fire and wild storm that Harry was. Is. Was.

Then he begins to dig.

\---

It was a year until he could bring himself to return. 

Harry was overjoyed to see him; everyone else, less so. But he had changed - he was no longer the uncouth, rude little savage Tom Riddle, but a model student. Charming, intelligent, charismatic - a gentleman.

Like a reflection, Harry had too. The Weasley girl had changed him. He was kind. He was friendly. He laughed, he joked, he did normal things with normal people, and Tom could tell he hated every single second of it.

It was not a true reunion. Neither of them were their real selves.

But they both pretended that they didn't know that. Harry pretended that everything was going to be fine. Tom pretended that he did not have to clench his fists every time he looked at Ginny Weasley to prevent himself from slitting her throat open.

\---

How deep have they buried him? Tom has been digging for what feels like hours and his back aches and sweat soaks his face and blood and dirt cakes his fingernails and he still cannot see him.

The light of the moon makes him madder and madder and he digs with renewed feverish frenzy.

\---

Tom bangs through the door of the Hospital Wing and stops when he sees Harry lying in the bed, gaunt and wild-eyed, suffocating under the eyes of professors, nurses, false friends.

Their eyes meet. 

And there is no longer anyone else in the room.

"Oh Harry, oh my life, how can I bear it!" he cries, and with a stride, two, he has his entire existence held in his arms, cradling him against his cheek.

Harry laughs, a bitter, world-weary laugh. "You and Ginny broke my heart Tom. Have you come to plead forgiveness?"

"I have nothing to plead from you."

"No, except my life I think. You killed me Tom, and you've thrived on it too I think. Is this how it ends then? You kill me, you forget me and you live on - how many years are you planning for after I'm gone?"

"Are you insane? Are you possessed by the devil to talk to me like that when you're dying?"

"I'm as mad and free as the air and sea, my Tom."

"Stop it!"

"What? I don't want to hurt you darling, I just don't want us ever to be parted," Harry reaches out a hand to touch his cheek but Tom pulls away forcefully. "Oh be like that then. See, this is how I'm loved. Or maybe not - you aren't my Tom, so I'll just love him and hate you instead."

Tom growls and pulls Harry towards him, torn between kissing or punching his beautiful, mad face.

"Why did you hate me?" Tom demands. "Why did you betray your own heart Harry? You said you loved me didn't you? Why did you go back on your word? No, you deserve this, and don't deny it. You can kiss me and cry and plead all you like - damn you, I will too! I didn't break your heart Harry, you did, and now mine is broken too, and when you're gone I'll have to live without a soul!"

Tears roll down their faces, they cling to each other, press feverish kisses to eyelids and hair and cheekbones, whisper forgotten promises...

But then there is screaming and hurt and anger, and they have to forcibly drag him out of the infirmary.

Tom waits of course, down in the grounds. He leans against an old ash tree, eyes shut, waiting. The moon mocks him silently from above.

The clock tolls. An owl hoots. The wind whistles.

And he knows, Tom just knows, feels Harry draw his last breath and an empty, numb sensation creeps over him.

Still he stands there. Rain comes and goes, a flock of birds begin to settle. They fly away at the sound of footsteps.

"He's dead," Tom says shortly. "I haven't waited for you to tell me that."

"Yes, I had a feeling you might say something like that." Dumbledore comes slowly into the light.

Tom reaches up and snaps a twig off a branch. "Tell me then. Did he die like a saint? Give me the truth."

"He was very quiet after you left, although I cannot say the same for Miss Weasley. He lay still for a few minutes and then shut his eyes. He did not suffer."

A sudden, indescribable, white-hot rage consumes him, like fire devouring ice. How dare Harry have the nerve to just slip away, as easily and naturally as falling asleep? How dare he scream and hit him and wreck him and then desert him with little more than a whimper?

Tom dashes his head against the tree. He howls. His head spins, stings.

"Harry, may you not rest as long as I am living!" he yells at the moon. "You said I killed you - haunt me then! Drive me mad, only do not leave me. God, I cannot _live_ without my life! I cannot _live_ without my soul!"

Blood stains his skin, stars dance in his eyes and still he howls into the night, even as older, frailer hands drag him away, attempt to placate him.

Because he can hear Harry's cries on the wind and he cannot join him and it breaks his heart all over again.

\---

Finally.

At last, he has found him.

Reunited in this strange half-life of the night, where the moon mocks him and earth tastes of blood and fire. The hour of the wolf and the witch.

Harry's face is as young and fresh as the day they laid him down here and some rational part of Tom's mind knows that that isn't possible, but he has long since stopped listening to reason.

His eyes are closed, a serene look on his face that is all _wrong_ but it's him, it's Harry and Tom cradles that precious face in his dirty hands. He deals angry blows across the gaunt skin, kisses the cold lips and whines and keens like a dying beast.

He doesn't know how long he remains there, holding Harry's corpse, but the next thing he knows is that Dumbledore, old and weary, is kneeling next to him, the other professors stood a little way off. They wear masks of horror and unsettlement.

"Tom," Dumbledore says quietly. "You must come with me now my boy. Come along, you must leave him now Tom, leave him to rest..."

Tom lets the words wash over him like water, still mesmerised by Harry's face.

"He still looks like him," he murmurs. "Still beautiful..."

Concerned looks are exchanged behind him.

"Tom, please, you must put him back now... think of your poor parents -"

Hands reach out, reach out to take Harry away from him.

Tom is quicker.

His first kill is by the light of the moon. They say that light can drive you mad. 

Maybe that's why he laughs. 


End file.
